


Angels of New York

by hummelmovinginc



Category: Glee, klaine - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Glee Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Shadowhunter Chronicles Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hummelmovinginc/pseuds/hummelmovinginc
Summary: On August 12th, 1884 a half fae boy wakes up in the New York Institute for Shadowhunters with no recollection of his past but his name.Amongst the growing tensions between the Nephilim and Downworlders, Blaine Anderson investigates a series of linked murders, to which this boy could be the key.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been my brain child for a LONG time. To put it into perspective, this prologue was written before Harry Shum Jr was announced to be Magnus Bane. Then I’ve been stuck on character one ever since.
> 
> Also to those familiar with the Shadowhunter Chronicles, there will be some lore inconsistencies with part fae Shadowhunters because this was planned before the Dark Artifices came out which really digs deep into that. However I’ll be cherry picking bits and bobs and so hopefully it won’t divert too much.
> 
> Also you don’t need to have read/watched anything shadowhunter related to understand this.
> 
> Let’s do this! (5 years late)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own glee, if I did the puppet episode would not have happened

He felt like he was floating.

Surrounded in the fathomless dark-- 

no. As if he were part of it.

Part of the swirling matter that verged on nonexistence as he seemed to move with it as if it were part of him-- but also somehow managing to feel like a horizon aching to be explored.

He felt… free.

Free of burdening thoughts, identity and demanding voices.

Drifting through the endless space seamlessly and timelessly; he felt content.

Nothing could bother him now.

At times, he felt as if he were wading through the black shores of infinity.

At times he felt like he were flying— having taken a step of a precipice

— and jumped, the cloying dark catching him.

The calming serenity of it was the only thing that mattered to him; not the emptiness of the space, or it’s uniform darkness: just the feeling of finally being content.

Pained screams of torture he had grown accustomed to were nothing more than a distant echo.

Wake up.

A weight constricted around his chest as the voice ripped through the calm serenity of his mind like a claw. He was panicking.

No.

The icy cold grip of consciousness gripped him, dragging him through a wormhole of emotion, light and images that he had not known belong in his mind’s eye--

\--he was falling.

Pain.

A tortured sound grated at his throat. His ears deafened. He felt himself trying to grab onto the quiet calm of his mind, desperately grasping out for the retreating tendrils he could not quite reach. He was being dragged from the peaceful state of mind into the already painful consciousness he did not want to feel.

On August 12th, 1884 the boy woke up in the New York Institute for Shadowhunters.

—

\---  
Blaine ached.

His body was strung tight, as he watched the blood from his shirt seep into the water in the bath.

He stood over the brass tub, numbly watching the water drip from his hair. A trembling hand reached up to push it back off his face, his laboured breath fogging in front of him.

He wanted to be sick.

His stomach lurched as he felt guilt rise up in his gut.

Breathe Blaine.

The image of the boy was almost branded in the forefront of his mind-- the sinking, creeping dread that turned his blood cold-- dreading if there were no pulse or sign of life.

By the Angel.

He remembers the choked sob he made-- the wretched sound of relief, feeling the warm breath from the boy’s lips. The weight of him as he bundled him up into his arms and ran.

They were investigating a suspected demon attack, but Blaine found no trace of demon, nor smell the burning black ichor of a slain one. Blaine only found him. The boy, around his age, half hidden in an alleyway, tucked away in the cobbled streets of New York. Too late into the night for any passerby to notice a misshapen lump in the shadows. 

The familiar dread stuck him. It wasn’t the first time Blaine has seen the victims of the monsters of New York, whether those monsters were other wordly or human. The horrors they could inflict on other beings had Blaine’s heart hammering in his too tight throat, the adrenaline and courage from the runes drawn on his skin stilling as his heart ached.

By some mercy this boy was left alive.

“Blaine, there’s nothing here--” A blonde boy appeared at the end of the alleyway, the burning oil lamps from the main street, cast the all too familiar shadow of Sam Evans from the New York institute. Sam froze, eyes stiling on the body of the boy in Blaine’s arms and the ever blooming red slashes on the boy’s shirt.

“I found him here. He’s alive so he may have answers.”

“Why--”

“He has runes, Sam. He’s Nephilim.”  
-  
Another shaky inward breath.

Blaine was needed. He had to move.

Sam and Blaine had arrived back in to the institute past midnight. The other residents asleep, save for Carole, tending to the boy’s wounds with iratze after iratze. He stood alone amongst his room, water dripping from his goose bumped skin puddling onto the dark floorboards. Dimly, he knew he could get warm-- get dry-- help out. He just had to move. He had to move. Carole needed fresh cloths and water sent up to the boy’s room. He had to move.

He strengthened his resolve, put on a clean shirt and left. Blaine closed the door behind him, leaving his guiltfearpanic in his room before it set itself into his bones like a chill.  
-  
Blaine gently rapped on the dark oak door, the wood unmoving, looming over him in the empty corridor illuminated by the cold witchlight. It opened a crack, Carole peering out, an expression of caution guarded her features before alighting on Blaine. A warm grateful smile took over her face, as she reached for the bowl and cloth piled in Blaine's arms.

“Thank you.”

“How is he Carole,” Blaine asked, a little too desperately. His disloyal eyes betraying fear.

A fear that he was too late.

Carole eyed him. Her scrutiny felt like a warm motherly concern. The head of the institute knew Blaine well, almost too well. Her almost too well knowing gaze filled with so much sympathy for Blaine, like his guarded facade was too easy for her to see through.

She sighed and with a quick glance behind, she closed the door between them and the boy.

“I notified the brothers. Brother Hezekiah is with him now and I believe he’ll be well.”

The phantom weight pinned to Blaine’s shoulders eased, but the cadence ending her sentence didn’t feel complete, turning discordant as she hesitated. 

“But?”

Carole trusted him; he knew that. Trusted him enough to help train the children before they’d set off to the Academy. Trusted him with the tasks that couldn’t be risked with Noah, Finn or Sam’s boyish carelessness. Something trained out of Blaine by his Father.  
She lowered her voice.

“But it’s hard to discern where the boy is from. He isn’t on the Consul records, and Brother Hezekiah says he’s part fae. It may mean we’ll have to contact a member of the Seelie Court.”

“Fae?”

Blaine, in the manic horror of discovering the boy did not have the chance to register the boy’s pointed ears and angled features. He knew full well what the boy’s downworlder presence in the institute meant. The open scorn from the Consul and other Nephilim he would have to face. Blaine could recall a Consul meeting he had been observing— the show of vehement hatred for the downworlders shook him to the core.

The boy may even be a danger to them all yet Blaine’s every instinct yearned to protect.

“He has to be kept here Carole, he’s been attacked by something. We can’t let the Seelie Court do what they please with him—“

“— And it’s like the runes torture him Blaine” Carole’s voice cut through. “The iratzes hurt him before they heal him. Yet he’s still a Nephilim with runes and we hold no records of him. And he’s got these scars-- ” Carole hesitated. ”I have a suspicion he may be a victim to the cases these past months. I may need you to do some tasks for me, Blaine, but we'll discuss that in length another time.”

Blaine felt himself nodding.

Dimly he was aware of the water droplets from his hair landing on his shirt; the chill seeping into his bones that the cool witchlight perched on the scones in the hallway could not warm. He’s aware of him feeling so powerless against something so big. His own thoughts in the dark hallway felt bigger than the growing city of New York.

“I can talk to him in the morning, ask him what he can recsll and I can track the whereabouts of what attacked him. Perhaps we can learn about his background and a motive, if it was a downworlder or a demon.

“He can’t recollect anything for all we know.” Carole said, Her eyes were sad, sympathetic mother’s eyes. “He only remembers his name, we think— when he roused, he said the name Kurt.”

“Kurt…”

He rolled the name gently, thoughtfully in his mouth. The boy had a name. The boy in the alleyway who some monster had dumped-- gotten rid of like an afterthought. Abandoned and vulnerable to horrors hidden in New York.

Kurt.

A hand, rough from decades of battles and scars laid itself gently on his cheek. Carole’s touch still managing to be a gentle comfort. He felt stubborn tears prick his at eyes and he didn’t know why.

“Get yourself to bed, Blaine.” She cooed. “You’ve helped enough. Be there when he wakes tomorrow, I trust you to help in any way you’re able.”

He raised his eyes, managing a weary quirk of his mouth.

“Thank you, Carole.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a lot longer to finish than I thought, but I did it! And it marks me getting over my five year writers block and inability to get past chapter one!! Here it is folks!
> 
> Warning for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence

Sunlight blazed through the large windows, making Kurt jerk awake with a cry. He panted, hard. Every muscle in his body protested and he urged himself to sit up, staring wide eyed at the room before him.

His straining eyes registered the dark wood of the walls and floor, the rich red tapestries strung up like bloodied carcasses. His breath fluttered in his throat, constricting, choking and he willed himself to look down at hands expecting—-

His hands were pale and unscathed.

He let out a breath of manic disbelief, hands clawing to feel his chest, down to his arms and legs. Relief and shock washed over him to feel no twinge or burning and straight agony.

He felt…

Fine.

The sunlight caught his bare arm, where his white night shirt had ridden up his forearm. Staring curiously at raised ridges and silvery swirls, he drew his hand up to wistfully trace over the litany of scars only to catch sight of the black mark on the back of his hand, shaped like an eye, gazing sightlessly up at him.

A rune.

He remembered flashes of the night. The sharp white lashes of pain. The burning on his skin. This entire body immobile from a mixture of old scabbed clotted wounds to the acute cuts— the burning. The feel of fire on him, in his blood as soon as that woman touched an object to his arm, drawing marks that he remembered glowed before disappearing into his skin.

The woman with the kind eyes and soothing voice.

The hooded creature, the colour of parchment, lips sewn shut.

The chilling voice in his head.

_Wake up._

The feeling of this creature roaming, searching, scavenging inside his mind.

And then nothing.

Perhaps finally succumbing back to the safety of sleep.

He sat there, amongst the clinic white bed sheets, puzzled— feeling…

fine. 

He could hear the distant whisper of a ticking clock in the distance. Perhaps even voices, and creaking footsteps somewhere above him.

He couldn’t go outside, leave this room to face strangers.

His heart fluttered wildly at the thought, tongue feeling too big for his mouth. He wrung his hands together, anxious with restlessness of not knowing what to do with himself.

So he sat there.

He could hear the house now, the presence of people who lived here humming like the wings of a flighty bird. A gauzy breeze hovered into the room through that window. It was open, Kurt slowly realised, the sky peeking through the window drawing him towards it. He lowered his feet to the floor, the bare skin on the mossy red rug underneath him. His legs felt stiff as he stood up, painful at the knees as he cautiously ambled to the large window. Moving felt like it took forever, he reached out to grasp the back of a chair for support, before he continued, padding gently as if it were forbidden.

Kurt reached it finally

Breath rushed to his lungs as he looked out at the soaring skies crowning the roof of the building. He gazed down into the stone courtyard, a little patch of grass and sparse trees lay caged in the center. Across, he saw the moving haloed silhouettes in through the window of the lower floor, the bustling noises of people and clinking ceramics escaping through an open door. He could see the steam delicately rising through air as something inside sizzled on a pan-- he could smell it even. 

If he looked closer he may be able to discern the features of the animated people around the table-- the warm domesticity tugging a smile to his lips, alighting his intruding eyes.

A knock came at the door.

Kurt turned around sharply, scrambling backwards, his back pushed up against the cold glass.

A young man stepped into the room, regarding Kurt cautiously, his warm eyes wide and wary, curly hair dark and dishevelled. Kurt’s grip tightened on the windowsill. The young man’s hazel eyes flickered down registering the movement and let out a startled laugh.

“No need to act on your escape route,” the man said, eyes twinkling. “I was just coming up to check on you.” 

Kurt stayed where he was, watching frozen as the man cautiously approached him. He offered his outstretched hand, where Kurt noted the black runes that blossomed on his sunkissed arm. They had the same sharp lines and curves as the runes etched on his own skin.

“I’m Blaine,” the man said with a hesitant smile that reached his honey eyes. “I live here in the institute.”

Kurt dimly registered the familiar word— institute. It conjured up images of runes, wicked iron and black. The man- boy- Blaine stared expectantly as Kurt swallowed down his nerves, forcing himself to detach his arm from the window sill to shake Blaine’s hand. Kurt made the slightest contact and snatched his hand back.

“Kurt.” His voice was scratchy from misuse, the pain grated on his dry throat.

Blaine kept staring at him— Kurt spied the look of concern and shuffled uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

“You must be hungry; I could fetch you some food if you’d like,” Blaine said softly, as if talking to a wounded animal. “Then perhaps you could aid us by recounting your memories of last night.”

He could feel himself shaking his head, as his body itched for freedom and familiarity. “I would like to be outside.” The boy responded haughtily, his chin raising in a practised dignity despite the tremble in his limbs.

the other boy simply shook his head.

“I can’t do that.”

Kurt felt the breath stopping, heart racing, muscle freezing panic overtake him like it was second nature. He felt like caged. His hand scrambled for the nearest thing to him to brandish in front of him as a weapon.

“I _._ am. _not a prisoner!”_ His frantic voice rang out, tears pricking his eyes as he held the candle stick out towards the other man.

Staring and unreadable, Blaine simply raised his hands slowly, as if to show he was of no harm. Kurt couldn’t help but flinch at the movement but readjusted his grip to tighten his hold all the same.

“Kurt, we don’t intend for you to be our... _prisoner_.” Blaine considered his next words, warm eyes so so full of intent. “Can you remember any events of last night?”

His breath hitched, the candlestick shaking from his death grip as his mouth opened trying to find words. Finally he shook his head, his eyes fixed on Blaine for an answer.

“I found you, injured in a back alley off Mulberry Street. We suspect it could’ve been a demon attack but we’re not sure of the intent.” His hands were still raised and his voice grew more earnest. “All we want to do is to help you and find out who was behind the attack and to keep you protected in the meantime. Please Kurt, I ask that you cooperate.”

Kurt stared at Blaine’s pleading eyes, he looked tired and worn yet so sincere. The unfamiliarity to the warmth this man emanated caught him off guard as his breath hitched.

Slowly, he lowered the candlestick as Blaine lowered his hands. He gave a small comforting smile.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“It’s our job. Nephilim keep the peace and protect the shadow world and the mundanes.” Blaine raised his hand, the one with the eye shaped rune . “It just so happens that you’re also one of us. Just… we have no record of you so we haven’t been able to contact any of your family.”

Kurt stared down at the black rune on his own hand that gazed sightlessly back up at him. He felt his breath slowing, the tightness in his chest easing.

“That’s the Voyance rune. It's the first rune given to us by the Silent Brothers. Enhances your Sight to see past glamours.”

Blaine gestured towards a pile of clothing on a chair by the bedside.

“If you’d like, you can get dressed while I fetch you some breakfast? I find it’s easier to talk over food.” He said good naturedly.

Kurt nodded. He moved toward the chair, grateful for a change of clothes as his shirt stuck to him uncomfortably. he eagerly took the hem of his nightshirt to pull it off and over his head. He revelled in the cool air against his skin.

“Oh—“ Blaine made a choked of sound.

When Kurt looked up, he spotted Blaine pointedly averting his gaze. Kurt’s brow quirked.

“Have I done something wrong?”

Blaine looked at him, embarrassed. “Just— we usually aren’t so brazen—“ his eyes widened as he caught sight of the other boy— eyes fixed on something on him. Kurt gave him a quizzical look and glanced self consciously down at himself.

“Wait, Kurt.” Blaine drew closer to him him. “May I?” He gestured towards Kurt’s arm. He was so close, Kurt could feel the heat coming off of him. His woody scent made warmth rush to Kurt’s cheeks.

Kurt nodded as Blaine’s gentle calloused hands took his arm, his expression unreadable again as his eyes studied the skin. He let go of Kurt’s arm, eyes roaming over his chest, touching his shoulder gently to survey his back. Kurt’s skin prickled at the scrutiny, drawing his arm up to cover himself.

Blaine let out a sound of disbelief, eyes wounded. He withdrew, stepping back, allowing the other boy to get a clean shirt over his head and on.

“Blaine?” Kurt tried, the other boy's name feeling so foreign on his tongue.

Blaine was unreadable again as he retreated towards the door. “I... need to go. I will be back soon, okay?”

Kurt would have protested, but his empty stomach made itself known with an eager sound. Kurt gave a small dejected nod as Blaine shot him a grateful smile before leaving. The door sounded final as it shut.

—

Blaine let his hurried pace navigate him though the winding corridors of his institute. His breath was sharp, unable to hold himself after seeing the boy.

Kurt.

Nephilim runes have many forms and purposes. Some remained permanent like the Voyance and Angelic rune. Some are applied to aid with combat and short term tasks before fading to a barely distinguishable thin silvery scar. This has never been an unwelcome side effect, but a practical part of the duty. 

He knocked on Carole’s study, finding the head of the Institute desk amongst stacks of paper paper and book. She looked up from the letter she was writing.

“How is he, Blaine?”

Blaine made sure the door was closed before letting a sympathetic pained noise leave him. He shook his head. “He’s been tortured.” Blaine restlessly ran a hand through his hair, his anger unable to contain itself. ”He’s covered in old Agony runes Carole.”

Carole put her pen down and nodded grimly. ”Brother Hezekiah assumes the same.” She glanced down at the papers on her desk “I’m writing to the Conclave now. We’ll be convening a meeting to discuss how to go forward from this.” Carole paused, unfolding a correspondence on her desk. “The Smythes have also sent in a report— they found Katherine Wilde’s body.”

Blaine froze. The building energy had left him in an instant. He felt as if he had taken a blow to the stomach.

Kitty had been a such a bright yet fierce Shadowhunter he had known from at the Academy. She’d excelled through her training so much that tutors had considered her one of the best shadowhunters her age. She had gone missing for weeks, disappearing from the Academy before summer break. Many had presumed her dead, but Blaine had always held out hope.

“She’ll be sent here for the Silent Brothers to examine before the funeral in Idris.” She met his gaze levelly “You’re all permitted to go if you like. You knew her wel?”

Blaine tried to ignore the pang of finality in his chest.

“Yes, I do. She was in a younger class but we were close.” The words stumbled out of him. He focused on bright light beaming in from the window to try and will away the pressure behind his eyes. He swallowed thickly. “Do the others know?”

Carole shook her head sadly “Not yet, I was going to let them know over breakfast.”

Blaine cleared his throat as he felt it close up. “I should head back.”

Carole stopped him. He fought down the rising urge to snap, cry or both.

“Have you learnt anything that may be helpful to discuss with the Conclave?”

Blaine nodded, welcoming the change of subject. “I suspect he’s been trapped or imprisoned before we found him. He feared me to begin with.” He could so vividly see Kurt’s wide frightened eyes of prey as he held out the candle stick with as much conviction as he could a sword. “I’m wondering if, although his memories are gone, his physical and emotional memory have remained intact.”

He could see Carole scribbling down notes before looking up at him. “See that he gets settled here. Perhaps time will permit him to remember. We’ll treat him like one of our own. Nephilim blood is dominant and he is one of us. I will fight for this boy’s protection, no matter what the other Conclave members say, it is part of our Accords that we do what we can for Downworlders.”

A warm relief rushed through him. “When are the Smythes coming?” Blaine ignored the nervous twinge in his gut.

Carole glanced up at the clock. “Soon— maybe within the hour.”

With a thanks, Blaine set out for the kitchen, avoiding the dining room where he could hear the clatter of cutlery and boisterous chatter. He slipped in and out with a plate of food and a pitcher of water before heading back to Kurt.

Blaine didn’t really know what he expected when it came to seeing the boy. The institute had been home to few peculiar Nephilim and downworlders during the couple years Blaine had been there, but he had never been tasked to care for one. Much less a hybrid of the two who had no recollection of his previous way of life.

He knocked gently on the door before hearing a soft and hesitant “Blaine?” from within and he let himself in.

What he didn’t expect was the years of his carefully repressed gut urges to suddenly come undone, catching him off guard every time he caught sight of the boy.

“I’m back.” Blaine said, trying to ignore the nervous pounding of his heart as he placed the plate on a small round table Kurt was already sat at, awaiting him.

He risked a glance up at Kurt, catching a glance at the delicate planes of his face, the sooty eyelashes framing those curious blue eyes and those pink lips set in a stubborn line.

His high voice rose up.

“You called us Nephillim before….” He could see Kurt hesitate, the cogs in his mind trying to glean any knowledge from memories no longer present. “What is that?”

Blaine sat down across from him, as Kurt looked up, brilliant blue eyes meeting his gaze. Words caught in his throat as he tried to speak. This boy was so dangerously disarming. 

“We’re tasked to protect and keep the peace in the shadow world and ensure it remains hidden from mundanes. Our whole lives, we train to fight demons and keep order.”

Nephilim history had been drilled into young Shadowhunters from youth- the story of how Angel Raziel trusted Jonathan the Shadowhunter’s sense of noble duty and made him the first half angel half human being. After Kurt’s look of continued curiosity, Blaine started again. He couldn’t help but catch sight of the fine scars on Kurt’s arm as the boy reached forward towards a spoon, idly stirring the steaming bowl in front of him

“The runes we have— they amplify our abilities mostly.” He could see Kurt nodding, acknowledging the black runes stark against his white skin. “Some are used to heal or to hurt.” Blaine was filled with a gnawing guilt as he hesitated. Who was he to reach into this boy’s past trauma and present it to him so openly? “Kurt… you’re covered in scars of past runes made to torture and to cause pain.” Kurt was staring at him now, so very intently. Blaine swallowed. “So if you can remember anything. Even the smallest detail, it would be a great help.”

Blaine watched as Kurt’s eyebrows stitched together so delicately in thought, lips looking to form words.

“I... I remember being hurt,” he said distantly. “When I was unconscious, I remember the pain and the lady from last night tending to me with the hooded man.”

“Carole and Brother Hezekiah?” Blaine urged further. “Can you remember any more, Kurt?”

He watched as Kurt sat looking perplexed, those blue eyes of his boring into the table, urging for something to come. Eventually he shook his head, defeated. “I’m sorry.”

Blaine felt his heart sink at the sight of him

“There’s nothing to apologise for.” Blaine watched him, his anxious eyes flitting between Blaine and the door. His hands absently picking at the lace tablecloth. “How are you feeling?”

Kurt’s wide vulnerable eyes were so disarming, Blain could swear he stopped breathing. The table set there we sat at was small, they were close enough that Blaine could feel the heat from Kurt’s skin. The boy took a shuddering breath.

“I’m scared.” 

Blaine’s hand acted on its own accord, immediately reaching forward, covering Kurt’s hand with his own in a reassuring gesture. Kurt flinched a little at the contact but slowly melted into the touch and gave the other boy a small smile. A warmth spread through Blaine.

“Once you’ve finished that, if you’re well enough, perhaps I could give you a tour of the institute and you could meet the rest of us.”

-

The institute was a maze, a series of long winding tapestried hallways that seemed identical. He was shown one of the training rooms, a weapons room, where blades, whips and other objects that looked particularly dangerous were displayed and stocked. Blaine would comment on a tapestry every so often when Kurt’s gaze would linger. 

“That’s when Angel Raziel rose out of the lake with the mortal sword and cup for Jonathan Shadowhunter.”

“ _That_ shows when the Silent Brothers first discovered enhancing runes.”

“That one depicts the wild hunt— they’re eternal fae warriors. Sighted by mundanes sometimes, but assumed they’re phantom projections in the sky.”

Kurt paused longer at this one, his finger reaching out to decipher the horsemen, their pointed ears and faerie weapons. “I recognise them.” He said.

Blaine’s voice came at his shoulder, Kurt turning his head to find the other boy looking between Kurt and the tapestry. “The Wild Hunt?”

Kurt nodded, the memory was distant, but he could make it out, the shapes and colours of the tapestry appearing before his eyes.

“You know, you’re one of them too Kurt?”

He stopped to stare at the boy, confused.

“Brother Hezekiah says you’re half fae. We couldn’t tell if your origins were Seelie or Unseelie. But one of your parents was a full blooded fae”

He didn’t know how to feel— the information didn’t feel revelationary, it just felt like uncovering something that had been buried. As if he knew of his origins already, but just needed a reminder. “But, you said I was one of you too.” Kurt was subconsciously stroking over the black eye rune on the back of his hand for comfort. Yearning for some solidity and affirmation of what he knew.

“You are, Kurt.” Blaine’s honey eyes held his gaze so intently. “I truly believe you are one of us to the core, no matter how unknown your background may be.” Blaine said reassuringly, so, so secure in his knowledge it almost grounded Kurt. “I’ve only known you this morning and I know that.”

Kurt felt a warmth across his cheeks as he shot him a grateful smile.

“There have been known cases of Nephilim and fae children, but are extremely rare and historic. The fae and the Nephilim are the two proudest races and seldom mix.”

Kurt stared at the tapestry again, the faerie warriors were so fierce and free, caught mid flight on their steeds. They flew over a flowing green landscape that Kurt could not help but reach out again to touch. Longing to feel the silken grass, feel the breeze against his skin, smell the dew in the air.

He could feel Blaine’s eyes on him.

“We’re almost at my favourite part of the institute.”

Blaine took his hand, leading him down a series of more corridors and stopping at a set large imposing double doors. Kurt felt the absence when Blaine let go of his hand to push the doors forward.

Kurt’s breath left him at the sight of it.

Beyond the doors was a high domed chamber, light filtering in through the impossibly tall glass dome above. As Blaine led him through the room, the garden revealed itself slowly from the little paved path to the great tall ferns and palms that surrounded them. They kept walking, the path uneven from tree roots and grass peeking through the slabs. Amongst the green, there were smatterings of colour where flowers took root. In the centre stood a circular greenhouse, a spindly staircase wrapped around it haphazardly and through the glass, Kurt spied more plants in orderly rows.

“This is the greenhouse room.” Blaine beamed, Kurt noticed he looked less tense, his movements easy like he could finally breathe. Kurt stared at the green around him and it was as if _he_ could breathe for the first time too. “This is where you go when you need a break from the city and training. My mind just forgets the rest of the world exists here.”

He took a seat on a little grassy clearing, patting the ground next to him for Kurt to follow suit.

“It’s wonderful.” Kurt breathed, gazing up, up, up to the domed ceiling where the sky was so, so blue. His hands fanned out around him where he sat, feeling the blades of grass under his palms feeling almost giddy with delight.

“Isn’t it just—” Blaine honey eyes sparkled, but his smile held a hint of sadness. His face dropped, as if remembering something that halted his train of thought.

“What’s the matter Blaine?” 

Blaine let out sigh, he fell to lay on his back on the grass, eyes shut. “Nothing, I have just—“ Blaine hesitated, they opened his eyes to gaze up at the sky. “I’ve had a friend who’s been missing for a while. Her body had been discovered today and they’re bringing her to the institute so her body can be brought to Idris— the homeland for the Nephilim— for the funeral.” 

Blaine scrubbed his hand across his face, Kurt could hear the pained breath catch in his throat. “Carole told me just before when I went downstairs and, it’s as if the news is finally reaching me. I’m not quite sure if I can handle seeing everybody in mourning.”

“That... must be difficult.”

Blaine sat up, he brought a hand through his curly dark hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “It’ll be harder for the younger ones— Stephen and Stacy, it’ll be their first ceremony. Growing older I feel like I’m realising how much death truly is part of the duty.” He said simply.

Kurt tried to conjure up some words of condolences, but none came to mind and sat there feeling shameful he couldn’t offer anything of use. Eventually he reached out to place a tentative hand on Blaine’s shoulder, he could feel the warm touch of Blaine’s skin under the white cotton.

“I’m sorry.”

Blaine shook his head, his lips in a tight smile. “No, I should be sorry, for giving you such news when you’re just getting accustomed to our way of living.”

He was up on his feet again, brushing the grass off his brown trouser legs before offering his hand to Kurt. He took the warm assistance gratefully as he got back up on his feet.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of us before the Conclave arrives.”

They were halfway down the staircase to the foyer when the main doors opened. The group of people at the door were silhouetted against the light. However, Kurt could already tell some of them had stopped in their tracks to stare. At him. There was the woman he recognised the the previous night, rushing out to greet them. She was shaking one of the men’s hands before she caught sight of what had stolen their attention and stared up at Kurt. He froze on the steps, suddenly feeling so trapped. Unease gurgled in the pit of his stomach. There was a palpable stillness in the air.

“Blaine, come down to greet everybody,” the woman’s good natured tone cut through. He knew what it really meant though, they wanted Blaine to bring him down to be openly gawked at, like a circus animal.

He felt Blaine’s hand gently at his wrist. “Let’s go, Kurt. They’re not as intimidating as they look,” his voice was soft, teasing, almost. Blaine’s touch was gone before he knew it as the boy heading down the stairs, leaving Kurt no choice but to follow behind. Kurt kept a wary eye at the crowd at the door— his eyes have adjusted to the light and noted that most were older adults— a group of about half a dozen men and women.

“Is this the fae boy?” One of the taller leering men said. They had finally reached the bottom of the stairs and Kurt suddenly felt so small. The man who spoke stared down at him, his light eyes were so cold and full of challenge, almost daring Kurt to speak. He felt the rush of adrenaline spike in his stomach, making his fists clench trying to make the decision to run or fight.

Before anybody could speak for him, he found his voice rising to his throat.

“Yes, I am.” He brought his gaze level to the man who spoke despite the fearful tremble in body. He fought that down. “My name is Kurt.”

The main raised an eyebrow at him, staring him down for what felt like an eternity before he nodded once, approvingly and spoke. “Horace Smythe. This is my son Sebastian.”

He referred to the younger man next to him, the resemblance uncanny. Sebastian wore a matching expression to his father, looking Kurt up and down. His eyes then flitted to Blaine for only a brief second, but Kurt caught the moment.

The New York Conclave began to offer their introductions, Annabelle Penhallow, William Schuester, Burt Hummel, Arthur Blackthorn and Emma Gray. The names washed over him, but he gave them a small acknowledgment, unsure of what was customary. The woman from the past night was regarding him curiously. She seemed so welcoming yet commanded so much attention, like a well loved, thumbed through novel.

“I’m Carole Hudson. It’s wonderful to see you up and well, Kurt.”

“Much obliged, Carole.” He said, a relieved smile couldn’t help but catch at his lips.

“the Conclave and I will be meeting in the Library. You may join us if you would like Blaine.”

Kurt shot a worried look at Blaine, suddenly fearful he’ll be left alone. Blaine shook his head.

“I’ve yet to introduce Kurt to everybody.”

There was a terribly long moment of silence as the group followed Carole down one hallway to the library. Blaine waited until they were long out of earshot, then made a sound of disgust. “I don’t like to say this about other people, but Horace Smythe is an awful man.”

A set of heavy running footsteps made Kurt’s head snap up, before he could ask further. A towering boy, dressed in all black barrelled towards them, taking Blaine by the shoulders.

“Where’d mother go?” His voice was frantic.

“In the library— the meeting.” Blaine rushes out, but the boy had started running down the same path as the Conclave. “Finn what’s happened?”

“Get the Silent Brothers now!” Finn yelled. “Kitty— in the infirmary. Something— something’s not right not right.”

Kurt couldn’t even register Blaine’s movement before he was at the mantle, scribbling something on a piece of paper, taking an object out of his pocket to draw on the paper and the paper exploded in flames then and there.

“Kurt, stay behind me.” Blaine urged and took off in a sprint down a hallway, leaving Kurt stood for a moment before he realised he should follow.

He tried to keep up as Blaine thundered down the hallways, but the fresh ache in his muscles protested. He was relieved and panting when Blaine stopped suddenly, alert. He procured a short blade- its curved edges glinted dangerously as Blaine held it up, poised and ready to spring. Kurt pressed himself against the wall, catching his breath. Then in the silence, he heard it—

There was prolonged disfigured noise coming from the door. Almost like a weeping, yet the quality of it sent the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was another sound— a sickening tearing of something, a squelching.

Then a crash and sound of splintering wood as Blaine kicked the door open, storming inside with no hesitation. Then Kurt heard the strangled cry he made.

“By the Angel—“

He felt his feet running towards the open door before his brain allowed it, his hand reached down snatching a thick sliver of wood from the ground.

Then he saw what made Blaine stop.

Red was splattered against bedsheets and white walls mixing with a black smoking substance— the smell of decay and burning invaded his senses. Amongst it was a small moving shape in the ground, an ugly imitation of a mouth opened wide letting out the grotesque gurgling cry— he caught the sight of a small clawed hand reaching out of the shape, dragging itself towards them, leaving a black trail on the floorboards behind it.

He looked around frantically and saw _her._ Something in him stopped, bile lurching up to his throat, black invading his vision— he reached for the doorframe as he felt himself crumpling forward.

Her face was turned towards him, sightless in death, lips pale and blood dripping from the hair that dangled off the infirmary bed. He saw her features so clearly in his mind. He remembered her.

He remembered being in a different room to where he was now, somewhere the light didn’t dare to wander. Cold seeping into his bones from the unforgiving ground. He remembered the sound of the girl’s last fighting screams— he remembered seeing what it looked like as the light left her eyes.

Kurt’s stomach lurched violently, he found himself bracing himself against the floor as he gagged, tears forcing themselves out of his tightly shut eyes.

“Kurt!” Blaine’s voice was distant but urgent as he kept his eyes trained on the creature slowly dragging itself towards them, blade raised.

He tried to gulp down a breath; he tried to let himself speak.

“I—“ he clutched at his heaving painful chest. He fought for the words. He sobbed out.

“I watched her die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excuse any mistakes/errors, I’ll be going in slowly to trying and fix them 💀💀


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